With the launch of home delivery at Carrefour, my in-person visits have been drastically reduced. 
My laziness can do nothing against the convenience of App ordering and free 90-minute delivery. 
Unfortunately, however, technological progress has taken away the possibility of the free three-weekly safari that the supermarket used to offer me. 
Beasts to be seen? Few if any. 
No antelope in the refrigerated counter, no zebra already filleted and not even a trace of a stewed gazelle in the rotisserie. 
The supermarkets on the coast do not offer the traditional Game Safari, but rather a comparative anthropological safari, i.e. the chance to closely observe the interaction between old carnivores of Caucasian origin and young Nilotic or to a lesser extent Bantu specimens. 
For the uninitiated: young blacks and old whites. 
Bestial is the Italian language with its universal masculine but in this article it matters little. 
The whites you meet at the Super - whether male or female - are always over 60, the blacks always under 30, whether female or male matters little. 
The anthropological safari begins as soon as you walk through the sliding doors. On the left is a tall boy, his abs sculpted like a Donatello statue, wearing nothing but a tartan drape and two beaded necklaces slung over his shoulder and crossed over his sternum. 
A young Samburu, perhaps still a Moran, who, as a test of strength for his lady, one in her 70s, eyes clouded by cataracts and platinum blond hair, is about to mount his most powerful weapon: the vertical plastic cart with three hanging baskets. 
There are no longer the Samburu's of yesteryear, those who did not hesitate to choose the iron cart with the crooked wheels to dominate between the lanes. A few aisles further on, another couple looks anxiously at the ramp leading upstairs. 
The hygienic leaves - oops, toilet paper - is on the first floor: will he, the 80-year-old man from Vicenza with legs thinner than a blackbird's and a heart that beats to trap music, make it to the top alive? 
His woman, a first-year university student from Nairobi, regrets the computer course at university, which, for the record, she never actually enrolled in. 
Silly her! She thought that outside the village she could stop putting parcels on her head but what else can she do now if she wants Osvaldo to at least sign the house purchase next month? 
Let him put it on his head! I notice a certain commotion around the cold cuts department. 
Strange, I think, they cost so much that you wouldn't expect all this crowd. 
Then I realise. An upright woman in a long black dress, a cross between Anna Wintour and Alba Parietti, could be a manager who has made it in a steel company, drags a bronze Luo in white briefs by the hand. 
Black flip-flops, tight underwear a few sizes too small, nothing else. She takes one step forward, he one step back. 
She has the look of the lioness roaring her supremacy to her colleagues in the supermarket, he has the low look of someone who has to send home at least 1000 shillings to put on the table two fish, a piece of ugali and the balance of some school fees of the children. 
I have the look of one who hopes that many of my fellow humans will learn that goods are bought at the supermarket and that goods in no way include men and women little more than children. 
Sadly, all taken from a real safari.

--- Michele Senici, 1993. Educator, teacher, project coordinator. I opened Casa Hera in Diani because I did not know where to continue my life. Have I realised this now? Certainly not, but that's OK, at least I observe, I think, I write.